


proximity

by domesticatedantelope (vaultie_glass)



Series: grand larceny [5]
Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, next door neighbors au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultie_glass/pseuds/domesticatedantelope
Summary: Car thief meets girl next door.
Relationships: Logan/Main Character (Ride or Die)
Series: grand larceny [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1414663
Kudos: 3





	proximity

**Author's Note:**

> For Rod Appreciation Week Day 1.
> 
> The self-indulgent neighbors AU.

Logan moves in on the first hot day of summer.

It takes him three long hours in the sun and several trips back up and down the chipped paint staircase at the end of the hall. By the time he maneuvers his beaten old futon mattress through the front door, his arms ache and his t-shirt sticks with sweat between his shoulder blades. 

There’s never much to move: whatever clothes fit in the back of the Devore, and just enough junk furniture to rest his feet on. At the end of the day, his footsteps echo a little too loudly against all the empty wall space, but the place is safe and quiet. And it’s something to call his own. 

He’s hunting through the boxes strewn in landmine fashion across the floor for a clean shirt when a few timid knocks break the silence. He pauses with his arms half-pushed through the sleeves, listening intently, and he thinks he hears a sigh from beyond the door as he approaches.

A quick look through the peephole offers him a fisheye glimpse of freckles and dark curls. The girl outside his door bites down on her bottom lip and fidgets where she stands, finally daring a glance up into the tiny glass lens, where her wide eyes unknowingly meet his own.

The notion sinks in slowly, unfamiliar. 

Logan has relocated more times than he cares to remember — lifted his life by the roots and left the rest behind — but this, he realizes, is a first. 

Because he’s fairly certain people just don’t _do_ this anymore. 

Or at least he was, until his neighbor showed up with a plate of cookies in her hands. 

She startles when he opens the door, the hint of a blush coloring the freckles on her cheeks as she blinks up at him and offers a shy smile. “Hi. Sorry to bother you,” she starts, and the sound of her voice brings the beach to mind, the soft way the waves sigh against the sand. “I know you just got done moving in, but I, um… thought I should introduce myself. I’m Mercy. I live in 104.” She shifts the plate to one hand and holds the other out for him to shake. 

Logan finds himself smiling as he takes it, especially when it makes the blush deepen on her face. “Logan.” He leans against the doorframe with a grin, nodding toward the plate in her hands. “Those for me?”

Her smile widens to match his, more certain. “Only if you like snickerdoodles. Otherwise I will have to insist you let me bake you something else.”

The plate is still warm when she passes it over, a heap of golden cookies piled neatly beneath a shiny slip of plastic wrap. It might be the most wholesome thing he’s ever seen. “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to do that.”

She averts her gaze then, toying with the tail end of a curl. “Well, my mother would be disappointed if I didn’t do the neighborly thing and welcome you with fresh-baked cookies.” She breathes a nervous laugh, and when she speaks again her words all tumble together in a rush. “Also, I teach piano lessons every other day, and the walls here can be really thin, and I just wanted to say sorry ahead of time, and I promise it’ll only be during business hours, and if we’re ever too loud, you can totally come over and let me know, and—!”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Logan cuts in gently, holding a hand out as if he might stem the tide of her apologies. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m hardly ever home anyways. I can promise it won’t bother me.”

She tugs her lip between her teeth again. “You say that now, but wait until you’re hearing off-key _Für Elise_ for the fifth time in a row. You’ll be begging the landlord to evict me.”

He laughs. “Trust me, Mercy. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He feels a smirk tilt at the corner of his mouth, and drops his voice conspiratorially low. “Besides, I’ve already taken the bribe. No walking back on it now.”

The last of the anxious energy seems to ease from her shoulders when she giggles, and the smile she beams up at him is sweeter even than the smell of cinnamon and sugar. He wonders absently if kissing her would taste like cookies, too. “In that case… I guess we have a deal. The snickerdoodles in exchange for your silence.”

“I’ve had worse deals.”

Her gaze lingers a moment longer on the shape of his smirk before she blinks and glances down the hall toward her own door. “I, um… have some studying I need to get back to, but… it was really nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Not as nice as meeting you,” he assures her smoothly, rewarded by the delicate pink flush that warms her cheeks again. It’s far too easy, summoning that blush; he thinks he could get dangerously used to it. “Thanks again. I’ll bring the plate back as soon as I’m done with it.”

“No rush. You know where to find me.” She arcs a small, cheery wave at him, and he watches the waves of her hair bounce as she walks the short distance back to her apartment. There’s an eager sort of warmth that sits in his chest when he kicks the front door shut behind him. His steps still echo when he walks, but if he’s quiet he can just make out the sound of Mercy moving in the next apartment over, and the noise of nearby life softens the empty feeling in the room. He takes a bite of cookie that melts perfectly on his tongue, and smiles as he settles in to unpack.

* * *

Logan wasn’t kidding about never being home.

Mercy doesn’t see him for another couple weeks, aside from the short interlude when he drops by to bring her plate back — when the firm broad of his shoulders fill her doorway, and he shoots her that same tempting smile, and it feels like tilting her face up into the sun. The image of it floats across her thoughts, firmly imprinted in the fleeting daydreams between essays and lessons and exams. 

The summer starts to sink its teeth in, bleeding hazy heat waves well into the dark of night. Her shoddy AC unit struggles helplessly against the swelter, and she finds her only solace curled up in a chair below her open window, begging any semblance of a breeze to whisper through. She’s on her third night in a row of letting ice cubes slowly melt against her neck when she hears the unmistakable sound of a window scraping open. The crash of boots on metal quickly follows, and she cranes her neck to peer over the sill and see the familiar shape of dark hair and wide shoulders on the fire escape. 

“Logan?”

He turns at the sound of his name, a grin stretching across his face when he spots her through the window. “Hey, Mercy. You trying to escape the heat, too?”

“Trying,” she confirms, and reaches for the tray of ice at her side, holding it out toward him in lethargic invitation. “Ice cube?”

With a pleasant, rumbly laugh, he plucks a slightly melted ice cube loose and folds his fingers in around it. “Thanks. You know, it’s a lot better out here. Feel like joining me?”

His smile leaves a flutter in her stomach; her daydreams haven’t done it justice. It’s been a while since she clambered through her window, but she manages to climb over the sill with little difficulty. Logan offers her a hand to help her through, his fingers still cold from the ice, only letting her go once her feet are firmly planted on the fire escape. 

And _oh_ , he was so right.

She can’t help a blissful sigh as a breeze lifts at the curled ends of her hair, cooling the flush of heat from her skin. “Oh, my god.”

Logan chuckles knowingly beside her. “Better?”

“The best.” Mercy joins him at the railing, where he rests his elbows and peers out over the darkness of the alley below. An easy quiet settles in the space between them while she revels in the first glimpse of relief she’s felt all night, soothed by the busy melodies of city life around them, voices and laughter and traffic on the distant highway. He’s rolled the short sleeves of his t-shirt up his shoulders, leaving the bronze skin of his arms uninterrupted, and she finds herself almost grateful for the heat when a blush starts to rise in her cheeks. 

He seems to notice her staring, because he arches a brow and tilts his head to smirk down at her. “Come here often?”

Despite her mortification, Mercy laughs. His expression softens at the sound, something tender in the angle of his smile. “Sometimes,” she admits, her finger tracing idle patterns at the metal of the railing. “On clear nights mostly, when I want to see the stars.”

His gaze flickers from her face up to the sliver of night sky barely visible between apartment buildings. “Kinda hard to see the stars from here, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the best view,” she agrees with a quiet laugh. “Just enough to remind me that they’re up there, I guess.”

Abruptly, Logan steps away from the railing, a look of determination forming in the dark of his eyes as he turns to face her. “I want to show you something.”

She blinks, thoughts scattered by the eager way he grins at her. “What is it?”

“A surprise,” he insists teasingly, and holds his hand out to her once more. “Do you trust me?”

Mercy touches his palm, and her heart skips when he folds their hands together. “I do.”

The stairs tremble beneath their feet as they climb steadily higher. Logan glances back at every landing, his grip comfortingly certain around her own. It’s another five flights to the roof, and he slows to a stop at the last ladder to let her ascend first.

The breeze is stronger here, whipping at the loose strands of her hair as she steps out onto the open rooftop. Dark blue sky stretches unobstructed above her, and she tips her head back to drink in the faint sparkle of stars that manage to break out over the city lights. She feels Logan step up beside her, and when she finally tears her eyes away from the stars to meet his gaze, the wonder in his features steals her breath.

This time when her blush returns, she doesn’t look away. “Thank you, Logan. It’s perfect.”

He doesn’t look away either. “Anytime.”

* * *

His eye still fucking hurts. Every time he blinks, the sting reminds him of wet streets beneath his cheek and the brutal pain of impact, Salazar’s face a snarl of gritted teeth and bleeding mouth and the crunch of his nose breaking under Logan’s fist. He clenches his hand at the memory, feeling the prickle of split skin across his knuckles. 

He doesn’t notice Mercy in the hallway until he’s nearly walking into her, the startled shock of her voice shaking him from his anger. 

“Logan! I’m sorry, I didn’t see — oh, my god, are you okay?” 

Wincing, he angles his injured eye away from her. “It’s nothing. Took an elbow in a pick-up game. It looks worse than it is.”

Something about the concern in her expression eats away at him, like battery acid in the chasm of his chest. Her gaze passes shrewdly from his black eye to his split lip to the busted knuckles in his hands before a frown settles on her mouth. She bites her lip, unconvinced. “Well… at least let me get you something to help with the swelling.” She reaches out to squeeze his fingers before disappearing into her apartment, and he stands frozen in the momentary silence, staring down at his palm, where his hand still feels warm from her touch.

Mercy returns shortly with a bag of frozen peas in her grasp. “Here. This should help with the pain a little, too.”

“You patch up many black eyes?” he teases, bending to let her press the bag gently over his eye. His body tenses at the pressure, teeth biting back a groan, and she murmurs soothingly under her breath, easing her touch until he feels only the cold. Her focus is fixed on his injury, and it leaves him free to admire the soft angles of her face, the beauty mark at the corner of her mouth, the freckles set like stars against her cheeks. A few curls threaten to spring loose from her braid, and his fingers itch to discover how soft they might feel in his hands. 

“Can’t say I do,” she answers finally, when the weight of his gaze makes her blush and look away. “But I was clumsy enough to get all sorts of injuries when I was little, and the frozen peas trick always works.” She checks her phone and mutters an adorably soft curse. “I have a final in half an hour, or I’d stay and—”

“I got it from here,” he reassures her, with a smile half-hidden by the hand keeping her makeshift compress in place. “But thanks for looking after me, Mercy. Honestly. With your help, it feels better already.”

She hesitates a moment longer, clearly torn, before she reaches up and strokes the smooth pad of her thumb over his cheek. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Her features are tight with concern, but she turns and hurries down the hall, the sound of her footsteps fading into a silence that weighs heavy on his shoulders.

* * *

Mercy lets her fingers move mindlessly across the keys, coasting on a comfortable familiarity, the soft notes of a nocturne soothing out the stresses of her day. Her left hand sidles over broken chords, rising into an arpeggio that’s just about to reach its zenith when the power cuts in her apartment, plunging her into sudden darkness.

She blinks as her eyes struggle to adjust, groping blindly for her phone. The narrow beam of its flashlight guides her careful steps into the kitchen, where she rummages beneath the sink and emerges with a tin of tealight candles. 

It takes the whole container just to light her living room, but at least she can see her own feet. The faint flicker of candlelight is just enough to keep the darkness at bay, and it’s with a calmer heart that Mercy picks her way across the apartment to answer a hurried knock at her door.

Logan stands in the darkened hallway outside, the glow of his cell phone gripped between his fingers. “Hey, sorry, I know it’s late. I heard you playing, so I thought…”

“I was up,” she confirms, blushing as she pictures him in the apartment next door, listening to her practice. “Your power’s out too, I assume?”

“Pitch dark.” He spots the soft halos of light over her shoulder and heaves a sigh of recognition. “ _Candles_. You’re a genius.”

She laughs. “It’s an old building, and definitely not the first time this has happened. I can spare a few, if you need some.”

Logan chuckles, and even through the darkness she can feel the warmth of his gaze on her. “Lucky me. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’ll pass soon enough. I feel better knowing you’re okay over here. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

She’s not sure where she finds the courage. Maybe the darkness makes her bold, the sight of Logan turning back to leave clawing a sudden ache into her heart. “Wait!” 

He rocks back on his heels, and she can just make out the arch of surprise in his expression. 

“Maybe you could… stay? Until the power’s back? I hate the thought of you just sitting in the dark over there when you don’t have to.”

Logan takes a slow step closer, close enough to feel a trace of his body heat as he searches her face through the darkness. “Would you like that?” he asks softly. “If I stayed?”

She swallows, nodding even as her face burns with the force of her blush. “Very much.”

He smiles then, and with a gentle motion, lifts his hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. “Me too.”

It’s stranger than she thought it would be, having Logan in her apartment, even if she’s spent more and more of her time here thinking of him. They settle in the dim circle of candlelight that rings her living room, stretched out side by side across the floor. His leg shifts, bumping her foot with his own, and she breathes a laugh that shivers in the air between them. When she turns, she finds him watching her, his smile inches away as the light washes soft over his features. 

His dark eyes slowly roam her face, landing on the shape of her mouth with a look of immense purpose. He reaches out to trail rough fingertips along the frame of her jaw, his touch sending a shudder of warmth down her spine. He traces a thumb over her blushing cheekbone, her name a whisper on his breath before he leans in and softly kisses her.

Logan is almost unbearably tender, his lips gentle against her own as his fingers wind into the thick curls of her hair, drawing her into the circle of his arms. Past the rushing of her heartbeat, Mercy hears a faint groan at the back of his throat when she grips him by the shirt to tug him closer, parting her lips for the brief slide of his tongue. 

When they break reluctantly apart, he tilts his forehead against hers with a breathless laugh. “You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about doing that.” 

She laughs with him, carefree, like her worries have all floated off and vanished somewhere in the dark. “Probably about as long as I have.”

His eyes flash with amusement, and a flicker of something else, an ardor close to hunger. “Then we’ve got some time to make up for.”

Mercy falls eagerly into his arms, where she feels his heartbeat racing in his chest, and he kisses her until the lights hum back to life around them — and then, even, a while longer. 


End file.
